


Would you like a cup of - aarrrggh!

by notveryhandy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (1963), Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:33:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23795446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notveryhandy/pseuds/notveryhandy
Summary: Somebody was bound to trip over that scarf at some point.Or: leave the Doctor alone.
Kudos: 26





	Would you like a cup of - aarrrggh!

Out of milk. And sugar. So here he is, standing in a burning building with his past self, trying not to accidentally send the timelines to hell.

He probably failed at that a few centuries ago, but that’s besides the point. His younger self is yelling at him, probably a comment on his clothes.

Typical. Burning building, and not a cup of tea in sight.

“Are you going to _help_ me,” his younger self hisses, “or do you mind if I just leave you here to die?”

He takes one look at his past self’s clothes and thinks that yes, that would be _very_ enjoyable. “By the way, do you have any milk?”

“As a matter of fact, I was a bit busy with NOT BURNING TO DEATH.”

The Doctor sighs. So immature.

* * *

The Doctor looks at the Master suspiciously. “Is there any reason you’re here?”

“Oh, is this about me being naked in the middle of a field? Well, reasons.”

The Doctor shudders. “I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Nor am I, frankly.”

Wincing, the Doctor asks, “Have you got any milk? Or sugar?”

“No,” the Master snaps, and pulls a knife out of nowhere.

“Um.”

“Jack Harkness knows a thing or two about concealing weapons, I can tell yo-”

“Master! Stop!” He puts his hands over his ears.

Yuck.

* * *

The Doctor looks at the young man on the floor. Well, it’s probably a floor. It might just be an optical illusion. “Romana, do you think we’re being a little unfair to him?”

“I tested his DNA whilst you were busy screaming “Intruder! Intruder!” at the top of your voice,” Romana says calmly. “He’s you.”

“Right.” The Doctor suddenly doesn’t feel half as bad about the young man’s injuries. He probably deserves it.

“Are you having a moral crisis over using a scarf as a tripwire to prevent your older self from doing questionable things?”

“...maybe.”

From the floor, a voice says weakly, “Do you have any milk?”

“No,” Romana says.

Oh well. Somebody was bound to trip over the scarf at some point.

* * *

First with the massive, freezing cold pond, and now he’d crashed through the Time War when all he wanted was a cup of tea. Delightful, wasn’t it?

From the corner of his eye he sees his past self on the ground, badly bleeding. “Look, I’m trying to _die_ here, now is not the time!”

He nods vaguely. “Oh, sorry! Do you happen to have any sugar?” He’d given up on asking for milk.

“Did you seriously crash through the Time War in order to get a cup of tea?”

“Of course not! I drove through it perfectly neatly! I even parallel parked!”

The Tardis hums happily. “Well, good for you, I suppose. But I’d like to angst in peace, so if you could leave now that would be lovely.”

He shrugs, it seemed fair.

* * *

Ace is apparently fond of hitting unsuspecting strangers with baseball bats. Given her affection for Nitro-9, this was hardly surprising, but that doesn’t lessen his headache. He looks up at his younger and depressingly shorter regeneration.

“So. Do you have any mil-”

“How about we play a game of chess, and we worry about any other issues at the end?”

Losing to his younger self - particularly when he’d already played this game - is embarrassing, but then again, he really just wants to get out of here quickly.

“What was that about milk you were saying?”

“Never mind.” Really. Never mind.

* * *

His only visit with a future incarnation - should that even be possible? - brings nothing but trouble. He groans from the floor again.

“Do you have any... uh... milk?” he just about gets out.

Missy - whoever that is - snickers. “Nope, but we do have some sugar in the cupboard over there.”

He stands up and moves to open it, not hearing the angry, “Don’t!” from the other Doctor. The door flies open, and suddenly he’s suffocating in salt.

He steps to the side. Delightful, death by sodium carbonate. Maybe he’ll be going, then.

* * *

Amy looks at him, drenched in water, clothes singed and ripped. There must be bruises and cuts all over his forehead. Ow.

She holds up a shopping bag. “Yeah, you could’ve just gone to Sainsbury’s.”

“I’m not an intergalactic shopping service, you know!”

“You’d be five times better if you were,” Rory mutters.

“Oi! I heard that!”

Amy laughs, and Rory grins slightly. It’s really not funny.

The phone rings. “Hello? This is the Doctor here.”

A female voice rings down the line. “Hey, if you want some milk and sugar, I can get it for you!”

“Are you me?” he asks suspiciously.

“Absolutely not!”

That’s a _yes,_ then. He sits back in the Great Deckchair of Rassilon (also known as a regular chair with a fancy name).

Why did nobody tell him he only got more annoying?


End file.
